


Sent By Sands

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Foul Language, Stuck in someone else's mind, Time Travel, as far as i can tell anyway, back in time, there's masturbation but nothing really explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14126733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: During the fight at the Department of Mysteries, to help Harry and Neville escape, Hermione destroys the clock room and, as a result, is flung back in time.Stuck inside the head of the very Deatheater she had been fighting, at a time when he was still a student at Hogwarts, she finds out that not only is she unable to move in any way, nor talk, but also that the only person she can communicate with directly is Dolohov himself.But getting him to help her get back to her time might only be her first obstacle.





	Sent By Sands

**Chapter 1:**

The Department of Mysteries. Under any other circumstances, Hermione might have loved to visit it, to learn of what was inside of it and for what purpose. But as she was, her left hand on Harry’s arm and her right one gripping her wand but the back of it constantly touching Neville’s own, as a reminder they were still together, not separated, like Ginny and Luna and Ron — oh Merlin she hoped they were all right. She couldn’t — keeping everyone safe and out of this mess was her top priority, _nothing else_.

Managing to stun Dolohov for a short moment, she knew all three of them wouldn’t be able to escape in the time it would take for him to get back to his senses and go after them.

She was the brightest witch of her year, but that meant very little when facing criminals with years of experience. Five years of studying magic from scratch, hundreds of spells etched in her mind, even if dueling wasn’t her strongest point, she thought of a plan.

Looking briefly at Harry then at Neville, she bit her lip and then spoke in a hushed tone.

“I have an idea, but you both need to go.” She swallowed. “Run out of the room, and don’t turn back.” Harry hesitated for an instant and Hermione added, with a more urgent voice. “It’s not a suicide mission Harry, I _know_ what I’m doing.”

Hermione’s grip on Harry’s arm tightened to the point of being painful. _Please trust me_ , her eyes conveyed. She had a plan, but she needed Neville and Harry out of the way first. Harry hesitated half a second more before nodding.

“I trust you.”

“Good, now go!”

Harry and Neville ran like the devil was after them. In the corner of her eyes, Hermione saw them get further away from her as she gathered all her energy and concentration, took in a breath, and uttered the spell.

The boys were barely out of the room when everything exploded in a deafening noise. Through the protective spell Hermione cast, a transparent blue shield, thick as a double-glazed glass, she saw Neville’s horrified expression as he turned his head towards her.

Then he disappeared from her view, hidden by the broken objects, the shards of glass and scraps of metal that twirled around her magical shield, hitting it with a shocking strength, but still it held under the assault.

But then the hourglasses cracked and a ridiculous amound of sand bathed in a blinding golden light broke free and flew around the room like a sand tempest, at such a speed that Hermione wouldn’t have been surprised to see that all that had been in the room had been scratched to dust.

Without any protection, Dolohov and the other Deatheater with a baby’s head must have been incapacitated completely, if they hadn’t already been..

The whirlwind picked up a speed and the magical shield shuddered under the strength of the attacks.

Shards of metal and glass flew everywhere, deadly as knives that cut at her protection while the sand was wearing it down without doing any damage to it except draining Hermione’s energy at an alarming speed.

Animated by a mind of its own, the sand kept circling around Hermione without slowing down. It was bad, it should have calmed down by now, but it only seemed to be going faster.

All of her mind was occupied with one thought: making the shielding spell last as long as she could.

Her ressources were almost completely depleted. She was feeling light-headed but she held her ground.

A hairline crack in the blue-tinted transparent shield, with a disgusting noise.

She realized it wouldn’t hold for much longer.

Crap.

It came down on her like a bucket of iced water that she was too exhausted to even attempt to cast another one considering the circumstances. In an ultimate flash of practicality, she lay belly down on the black marble floor, putting her head between her arms in such a way that she would avoid most damage to her ears and face as long as her arms stayed in place.

And she only hoped she would stay conscious and unharmed until the tempest calmed down.

 _If it ever did_ , her mind unhelpfully provided.

And if she was still conscious then, she would get up and find her friends.

The protection shattered.

Hermione was assaulted by the sand, it scratched at her back, at her head, at her arms, tearing her skin and drawing blood.

Teeth clenched and eyes tightly shut, she was waiting for the sand tempest to stop when she lost consciousness.

* * *

 Hermione regained consciousness in a comfortable bed.

Still numbed and sleepy, with her eyes barely open, she went through her morning routine automatically.Rubbed her sticky eyes, yawned and stretched and it was only when she began to change her clothes that she realized something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Yet, instead of freezing, her body kept going through the movements it had been doing for years, unaware of her silent horror as the realization sinked in.

She wasn’t in the Department of Mysteries anymore, nor in the Ministry of Magic, as far as she could tell, but more importantly, _she_ didn’t look like herself.

Her chest was flat, there were… dangly bits between her legs that she didn’t want to think about any more than she had to, and the robes her body was putting on were definitely not from Gryffindor, considering the stitched Slytherin symbol and the green tie.

When had she become a male Slytherin student? Was it some kind of weird dream?

Hermione tried to move, consciously, but the body refused to obey her and just kept going about its routine. It was as if her mind wasn’t connected to her body anymore, like it could think without any problem but not actually move.

It didn’t look good, at all.

_Merlin I just hope I can speak._

She said, or rather tried to say, as her mouth stayed definitely shut. But her body, on the other hand, stopped moving.

“Is anybody here?” She felt her mouth and throat form the words without her actually trying to say these words.

Now _that_ was a weird feeling.

But the strangest, and most hopeful thing was that whoever owned the body she was currently stuck inside of, _he could hear her_. At least she hoped, if it wasn’t a coincidence.

Manifesting the same intent to speak as before, she tried:

_Can you hear me?_

Again, words came out of her mouth. His mouth. “I can.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you? You know if you were trying to get in mine or Rowle’s bed you should show yourself first. He’s not picky even if you’re ugly and even if you snuck in our dormitory.”

A vague of disgust, her own, washed over her and she barely tried to hide it as she replied.

 _No, thank you._ She wondered for a moment if she should give him her actual name or an alias, and eventually settled for: _You can call me Jean. What’s your name?_

“Antonin Dolohov, pleasure.”

The same Dolohov she had just fought in the Department of Mysteries? The same Dolohov she had been sure had been incapacitated in the clocks’ room? The Deatheater who had no qualms attacking children? _That_ Dolohov?

If it really was the case, she must have been sent back in time. Unless he had been de-aged, sent to Hogwarts in the Slytherin dormitories, and then Hermione’s mind had settled in his body... No, it didn’t make any sense.

_What’s the date today?_

“February the 17th. It’s a Sunday.”

 _The year,_ **_please_ ** _._

It was bad enough talking with a teenaged probably not yet Deatheater who had just tried to kill her and her friends, and now he was making it hard to even give her the answers she needed.

“Seriously? This is 1966. How do you not know the date? And for Salazar’s sake, where _are_ you?”

Hermione didn’t reply.

Assuming he was telling the truth, it meant she had been sent around thirty years in the past, hundreds of miles away from the Ministry of Magic, inside the mind of one of the Deatheaters that had been in the room when she had blown it up. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, but she could communicate with him assuming she made a conscious, deliberate effort to try to talk.

It was just fantastic.

“Talking to yourself, are you?” A drawling voice came up from behind Dolohov, who turned around to face a huge Slytherin whose face seemed definitely mocking. “I’ll let Rowle know not to approach you today, might catch your crazy.”

“Shut it Yaxley.”

If it had been with anyone else, Hermione would have helpfully provided the unfortunate person whose body she was currently stuck inside that when she communicated with him no one else could hear her, and might have thrown in an introduction and an explanation as to what she knew about their current predicament, but he was a Deatheater and she wasn’t particularly enclined to be nice to him.

He didn’t try to talk to her again and she stayed quiet, observing him and trying to get used to the uncanny feeling of being in a body and feeling what the body felt without being able to actually move yet feeling the body move as if it was her own.

* * *

 Contrarily to what some Gryffindors thought, Slytherins’ routine wasn’t much different from theirs. No evil plans were uttered between the moment Dolohov started combing his hair in the bathroom and the moment he finished his pumpkin juice in the Great Hall.

In the meantime, Hermione thought about her options in the current situation.

Without somehow getting Dolohov’s help, she couldn’t do much. Unless Dumbledore or Pomfrey magically found out there was a second person in Dolohov’s head and found a way to help her out. She mentally grit her teeth and tried to reason that since Dolohov wasn’t currently a Deatheater — as far as she knew — she hadn’t seen the dark mark on his arm — it wasn’t like she was helping an enemy.

He was just a Hogwarts student. In Slytherin. And most likely a pureblood who was prejudiced against people like her.

Once Dolohov was obviously done with his morning obligations, Hermione spoke again.

_Go to the library, I need to talk to you. No one else can hear me or see me so you’ll just sound barmy if you start talking by yourself._

He didn’t give any indication he had heard her except for actually heading to the library. He sat at an empty table and took a book, parchment roll, ink well and quill from his bag.

Dolohov started taking notes about the book but in the margin of the piece of parchment he wrote: _Explain_.

 _I was a victim of a magic accident and for some reason I am currently inside your body. I am stuck, I cannot move nor talk but I can feel you move and talk as if it was me_.

For a moment, he just kept working on his piece of paper, then replied.

 _Assuming this is the truth, why should I help?_ Dolohov wrote, and Hermione felt irritated. Bloody Slytherins.

_Out of goodness of your heart, maybe?_

Dolohov snorted.

_Or if you want a better incentive… You can hear me as if I was a normal person talking next to you, can’t you? How would you feel if I disturbed you during every single moment of your life? When you’re with your friends, your family, when you’re taking an exam, when you’re dueling… I’m not stuck here by choice, and if you don’t make some kind of effort to get me out, I swear I will make your life a living hell._

Maybe antagonizing him wasn’t the best course of action, threats weren't the way to get him in the best mind state to help her, Hermione realized belatedly, but she couldn't exactly take it back now. She was tired and annoyed and couldn't think of anything else at the time.

Dolohov sighed and leaned forward, the tip of his quill on the parchment, he started writing his reply when a noise cut him short.

“Have you done the essay for Binns yet?” A blond Slytherin sat down across from him and put his school work on the table.

“Not yet.”

Dolohov ignored Hermione and started working seriously on his homework.

It was not bad, per se, but it seriously lacked some research, Hermione observed as an idea stemmed in her mind. Threats would only get her so far, and she didn’t think she could go through with them. For a few weeks, a few months maybe, but forever? And what if he did manage to get someone but chose to destroy her instead of sending her back?

(And that was assuming she could even be sent back, she thought with a chill.)

But if there was one thing she could use, in her current situation, it was her knowledge. Knowledge of the future could help her make choices but she couldn’t share it freely with Dolohov, nor did she wish to.

Academical knowledge on the other hand, it could be valuable. School programs may have changed but she didn’t doubt most of it was roughly the same, and with help from the current schoolbooks and her memory, she could make sure she didn’t accidentally used information that would only be discovered later. All that in mind, she communicated with Dolohov.

_You should give a look at A Guide to Medieval Sorcery, by Havelock Bloxam._

His eyes narrowed.

_You'll find more detailed information for your essay in that book, it should be in the library._

_And why should I trust you?_ he wrote.

_This is a show of goodwill, I'm not asking for anything in return for now. What do you have to lose? It's a book, just pick it up, open it and see if you can't use it for your essay._

He stood and followed Hermione's directions, found the book and came back to the table. His friend seemed almost surprised but didn't say anything.

She gave him some pointers, corrected some mistakes she noticed, and when he was done, she knew the essay had a good enough quality to get him an E at least, maybe even an O.

Hermione had quite the experience with helping people with their homework, back in the muggle school she attended and in the past few years at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron. She didn't doubt she could do the same for Dolohov.

_Tell me Dolohov, you are familiar with the concept of quid pro quo, aren't you?_

He nodded slightly.

_You help me get back to my body, in my time, and I help you with all your studying. Get great grades._

_What if you just try to sabotage me? I’m still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate prank. I need to see results._

_All right then. Give me a trial period. One week. I can’t and won't write everything for you, but I can proofread your essays and give you help. You can still check with other people or books if you don’t trust me. If it looks like you were better off without my help, I won’t insist._ And she doubted it would be the case, she had been the best student of her year after all.  _If you want me to keep helping after the week is over, you’re going to have to search for a way to send me back._

Dolohov stroked his chin with the feathered end of his quill and smiled.

_Let’s start this trial period._

* * *

If there was one thing Hermione was quite grateful about, with her current situation, it was that she didn’t share her thoughts with Dolohov and didn’t hear his. She really didn’t need to hear everything he thought about, and if he knew everything about the future and his almost killing her he might not be so eager to help her.

But if there was one thing that she hadn’t expected to be so problematic, it was… his “needs”, regarding his... genitals.

Hermione hadn’t thought about it much. She kept her mind focused on other things when he went to the restroom or when he put on his clothes, but it was short and to the point, it was another thing entirely to _feel_ his arousal. And Dolohov seemed to share her embarrassment to a certain degree because he cast a silencing charm around his bed and then said out loud.

“When you said you can feel everything I feel, does it include…?”

_Yes, she said. That would include **that**. _

“Turn it off.”

_I’m afraid I can’t. I’m not exactly thrilled to see you do this either, if that makes you feel better._

“You _do_ realize men have needs and I’m going to have to jack it at some point? I can’t just never touch it or have sex until you’re gone.”

_I’m not going to prevent you from… doing that. Tell you what, when you are... masturbating... I’ll make sure to keep quiet. So you can forget I’m here and when you’re done we both try to ignore it happened._

“Fantastic.” He didn't sound pleased but it wasn't like he had any better solution.

They both did that, made sure to forget it had happened, and Hermione wondered if it was something she would eventually get used to or if she would always feel very uncomfortable about it.

* * *

 Aside from these kinds of embarrassing moments, Hermione’s plan was going just fine. She had been helping her Harry and Ron with their homework since they had become friends and helping Dolohov wasn’t all that different. Except that they weren’t friends, of course.

Dolohov had been more accommodating than she had expected, and they were beginning to work well together as soon as they got used to their new routine. To avoid having to write and speak to reply to Hermione, they had started a nonverbal way of communication. For yes or no questions, he tapped once for yes, twice for no. And Hermione had started teaching him morse code, although it wasn't viable at the moment.

His “friends”, most of them having names that Hermione recognized for being the names of Deatheaters, had noticed the change in Dolohov’s occupations.

“You know I was mostly kidding when I said you weren’t right in the head, now you’re scaring me, did you get possessed?” Yaxley asked one day.

“So what, I read a book or two and spend some time in the library and suddenly everyone thinks I’m going mad?”

“Well you have to admit you’ve never been the very studious type.” Another one chimed in cheerfully.

Dolohov made a comical “I give up” gesture and walked away.

When he was far enough, he muttered under his breath. “So it’s time I help you, is it not?” The trial period was over, right.

Hermione had assumed he’d drag it. Pleasantly surprised, she said:

_Correct. I’ve been thinking about people who could help. My first choice is obviously Dumbledore._

Dolohov stilled.

_But I assume the likes of you would rather not deal with him, at least not directly. Second choice is to go to the infirmary and tell her about your problem. Our problem._

“Alright for the second one, but seriously: ‘the likes of you’?”

_It’s no secret that most Slytherins dislike Dumbledore, even more Slytherins who dabble in dark arts._

“Hate is a two-way street. He’s _biased_.” He spat.

Hermione left the argument at that. She didn’t want to make things more difficult for herself, and Dolohov in public, anyone could hear him although he looked like he was just muttering to himself, it wouldn’t do to rile him up and make him forget what he was saying out loud.

So, Madam Pomfrey it was, then.

Dolohov gave a nod.

* * *

 

The healer looked suspicious when she took in the sight of a perfectly healthy-looking Dolohov walking inside the infirmary, but she asked, professionally, what it was that had brought him here.

“I was wondering if you could do a check up on me. I’ve had this presence in my mind for the past few days and I was wondering if it was my imagination or if it was a curse or an accident of some kind.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly, motioned for him to sit down on a bed and started examining him.

Her wand flickered through the air with grace as she cast several detection spells, and after several long minutes, Hermione could see her expression becoming more and more somber.

"There is, indeed, a presence in your mind.  Does it talk to you?"

"She." Dolohov corrected and immediately flushed slightly. "I mean, she did. She told me she had been the victim of an accident of magic and was currently stuck, she can't move or talk through me, she can only communicate with me, nothing else."

"I see. It would be possible to destroy her-"

_NO!_

Dolohov startled, Hermione didn't know if it was at Pomfrey's suggestion or at her scream.

"...However, if she really is a person then she needs to be treated as such and this should only be a last resort, if your... _cohabitation_ becomes a threat to your life."

"Do you know if there's a way to send her back? Or separate her from my body?"

“As it is, I don't have enough information. Do you mind having her explain exactly the circumstances of her accident?”

If Hermione had been in her own body, she would have paled.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk, but Dolohov, a Deatheater, was right there. And even then, she didn’t know how much she could really say about being about the future, or about the Department of Mysteries.

_Tell her… I..._

Her words were failing her.

_Time Travel. Time Turners exist already, don’t they? One, no, several of them exploded, among other things and I was caught in it. The sand twirled violently around and I ended up passing out._

Dolohov transmitted the message almost verbatim. “Anything else?" He added then, frowning. "Why would you end up in my body specifically?" He stilled. “Wait, was _I_ there? Were we _friends_?”

_Not exactly. You were there but I hadn’t met you before that day._

He relayed what she had said again.

Pomfrey was frowning. “How did they explode? What did you do exactly after the explosion?”

Hermione recounted the events, keeping it a secret that the explosion had been her doing. In retrospect, it had been a really stupid and reckless move. She should have taken her chances dueling Dolohov on one on one instead, less chances of fucking up the time and the entire world.

“It won’t be easy, but I can get some experts on the subject here and we’ll discuss a solution to your problem, hopefully you can go back to your time unharmed. I will let Mr Dolohov know when we’ll need to see you.”

 _Thank you_ , Hermione said and Dolohov conveyed her sentiment.

* * *

 

With everything going so smoothly, it had been easy for Hermione to forget who she had been sharing a body with, but Dolohov had reminded her on a cold morning.

“Move, mudblood.” He spat at a first or second year boy who was sitting at his usual spot in the library.

The insult chilled Hermione’s blood.

Dolohov hadn’t thought twice about saying it and Hermione felt the need to wash her mouth, _his_ mouth, with soap. She was disgusted. The poor boy skittered away from him.

_Did you **have** to call him that?_

He shrugged and ignored her. A wave of cold fury washed over Hermione. She wouldn't stand by and see children be bullied because their parents were muggles.

She couldn’t do anything about it at the moment, but in the back of her mind, she made a note to confront him about it, make him pay. Not exactly a vengeance, in her opinion, she only wanted to make him regret his words.

The opportunity would come eventually, she did spend her entire days and nights with him. The only thing now was to find exactly what she wanted to do to him.

She was really tempted to drop the bomb one day when he was “taking care” of himself in bed after a long day, but she did remember telling him she wouldn't bother him during his "alone time", and she didn’t want to break her promise, even if it was completely deserved. If for nothing else, because if he felt like he couldn’t trust her word, he might never make any deals with her again, which could be problematic in the future.

So she waited.

She waited and the opportunity came in the form of a sixth year Ravenclaw girl.

Neither Dolohov nor the girl was looking for something serious but they were attracted to each other so they planned for a date.

It was the perfect opportunity for Hermione.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about the situation . She didn't prank anyone and she didn't try to be mean to people on purpose, usually, but surely teaching some manners to the pretentious Slytherin pureblood who would eventually become a despicable person was a good cause.

* * *

 

 _So she’s your type, huh,_ Hermione said, before their first official date in Hogsmeade, when Dolohov was combing his hair with his fingers in front of the mirror in the empty bathroom.

“You almost sound jealous. Is it because you’re uglier that her and you think that if you weren’t literally inside my head I wouldn’t give you the time of day?”

 _If you say so_ , Hermione didn’t let herself get riled up, she had been called worse.

The date seemed to go fairly well. They shopped, walked around, ordered a cup of tea from the tea shop that mostly served couples that were so sweetly in love she wanted to retch.

How very romantic.

Dolohov held her hand and kissed it like a gentleman.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

At the end of the date, the girl looked slightly embarrassed as she asked him if he would consider seeing her for another date, next time they could visit Hogsmeade.

But Dolohov didn’t hear it.

Because when the girl opened her mouth to ask, Hermione spoke over her.

_Did you know that both my parents are muggles? I’m one of these disgusting mudbloods you hate so much._

For a moment, she thought it didn’t work, but then his face contorted in disgust and he spat: “You fucking bitch!”

The Ravenclaw, thinking the words were destined to her, looked hurt for a split second before sniffing and recomposing herself. She curtly said her goodbyes and turned around.

Dolohov’s eyes widened as she left and he only realized then what Hermione had done.

She had tricked him.

It wasn’t in his nature to catch up to the girl and apologize for his outburst. He needed to keep face, so he had lost her. She hadn’t been so important that he would feel heartbroken over it but he still felt mad, feeling as though the girl in her head had taken a toy straight from under his nose.

_Be grateful I didn’t do it while you were jacking it the other day, I did promise you I wouldn’t disturb your “alone time”, didn’t I? And I keep my promises._

“You fucking…” Dolohov growled, but she cut him.

 _Maybe you should go back to the castle and take a shower, Dolohov. Wash off all the **muddiness**_ _from your skin._

Hermione laughed.

 _Oh but I forgot: I’m **in**_ _you, aren't I? Maybe I’m tainting you from the inside. And it’s **irreversible**. _

Hermione then retreated for the day, fairly satisfied with how it had turned out, although she did feel slightly guilty for the girl who had been yelled at, it wasn't her fault Dolohov was a bigot.

Maybe now he’d think twice before going around calling muggleborns “mudbloods”, she thought, pleased with herself.

Unbeknownst to her, the wheels of his mind were turning as he thought of a way to get back at her.

* * *

 

That evening, he spent an annoyingly long "alone time" with his hand.

Long enough that Hermione was getting really uncomfortable and she was beginning to wonder if he was doing this because she had given her word she wouldn’t bother him while he was doing it and he knew she disliked it. She reasoned that although he was a teenage boy, he most likely couldn’t keep going forever and would have to do something else eventually, thus putting an end to his little childish vengeance.

After around half an hour, he confirmed his suspicions.

“You have to keep your mouth shut when I’m doing this, don’t you, you filthy mudblood?” Hermione bristled but she did promise she’d keep her mouth shut, even if he was being an annoying, rude bigot. “This situation is uncomfortable for the both of us but you just had to make it worse, didn't you? It’s all you fault, really. I was all for being friendly with you and you… and you had to ruin it.”

Putting the blame on her, was he?

She wasn't surprised, and she'd keep it in mind.

Hermione tuned him out once it became obvious he wouldn’t be sharing anything more interesting than grunts and pants.

She was almost impressed, really. She didn’t know some people could keep going for so long without release. Or maybe he just plain didn’t know how to use his wand, she thought with an internal smirk.

After what seemed like an eternity, and a few minutes after Dolohov was done, she spoke:

_You can’t expect to insult people and get away with it. I don’t regret it._

“Well maybe if you’d just spoken up before-” His voice was an angry whisper, but Hermione was angrier.

 _Then what? Are you trying to tell me that you, the pureblood in Slytherin who has no qualms about bullying **a child**_ _would have refrained from using that demeaning word just for the sake of the dirty little mudblood that I am?_

There was a silence.

Hermione interpreted it as it being as sign she had won the argument, but the longer the silence dragged out, the more it sounded like…

_Wait, I want to hear it from you. Would you or would you not have…_

“Jean, no matter what you think of me, I don’t have the habit of insulting my friends, or whatever it is you are. Brain parasite who's helping me get my grades up. Whatever.”

Hermione was dumbstruck.

_Are you really telling me that you don’t care that I’m a muggleborn?_

His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s not like I can spontaneously make you leave and no one can see that I’m getting friendly with someone _like you_ ,” Hermione could hear the barely concealed disgust in the way he pronounced the last words.

Right.

Expecting him to have respect for muggleborns was too high an expectation, it seemed.

_In that case, I would appreciate it if you could refrain from making these kinds of comments in the future, and I haven’t forgotten that you called me mudblood just now_

Dolohov only shrugged like he didn’t regret it, and he probably didn't.

Part of Hermione was glad for the reminder. If they became too close, she might forget he wasn’t her friend or someone she should like. He was a temporary ally until she could come back to her time, and then the only place he would belonged to was Azkaban.

There was no need for any more feelings.


End file.
